


They Meet Again

by OwlExpress



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: F/M, Forgive Me, Post-Series, i suck at titles and summary, yep the fox is a character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25573006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlExpress/pseuds/OwlExpress
Summary: They parted because he chose to love God but, what happens when God has other plans?
Relationships: Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 85





	They Meet Again

**Author's Note:**

> Spurred by a dream I had of Fleabag and the Priest in a different church by accident. It might be my brain telling me I've been watching too much Fleabag, but I filled in the story when I woke up anyway. Could've been multi-chapter but I don't trust myself to finish it. Here's my take of the aftermath of Normal People's confession to the priest. Hope you enjoy!

The Priest was in a mass but, he wasn’t presiding. This wasn’t his church in London. He was invited by Rhod, a priest friend he knew from his seminary days. Rhod was newly appointed a parish of his own and for his first Christmas season he wanted some help. With the sheer number of parishioners in Dublin compared to London, he understood how one could easily be overwhelmed.

He didn’t leave the parish in London and Pam for that matter all alone. After that forsaken night at the bus stop, he had another confession scheduled with the Bishop. As part of his penance, he was suspended from priestly duties for a month and a much much older priest was sent to join him tend to the parish.

But after two years of religious obedience, leading a life of virtue and integrity, he felt he could now safely step out of the parish. Even the fox that followed him from the bus stop, no longer jumps from the bushes to surprise him. No, because it now sequestered the plot of land under his window. Every morning he would peer down, not entirely sure what he wanted to see, but he always feel a wave of relief when he finds it’s still there, deep in its sleep. 

“Don’t wake up,” he sometimes catches himself say.

When he arrived in Rhod’s parish, he set out to work immediately. He did all the home visitations, sick calls to the hospitals, blessings, everything he can fit in between mass schedules. That’s how he learned to operate; if he doesn’t stop working, he’s never alone, save for sleeping. But by then he’s too beat and he falls asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow.

Today he had confession scheduled at 2. The last confessant came, cutting it close to the afternoon mass. It was a lad, having love problems. It was almost like hearing his own struggles told to him, although he may have tangented away a bit from the lad’s particular situation. The rational he kept telling himself and the doubt he’s been suppressing came bludgeoning to the surface. Like water finding a crack in the tank. And then in an unexpected turn of events, the girl who sat on the other side of the confessional was the very same girl giving the lad rue. In what the priest believes to be divine intervention. At that point, he knew words no longer matter.

When he stepped out of the confessional, the church bells had begun tolling. Rhod offered him to do the afternoon service, but he wasn’t sure he can do it. 

“I think I’m in need of guidance more than I can provide tonight.”

His friend didn’t ask for further explanation, even seemed relieved at his refusal. So there he was sat on the back most pew. He intentionally kept the dog collar on, he found in this setting people don’t really want to sit next to a priest. The people who unfortunately sat in front of him were standing stiffly, singing louder than they normally would. He honestly didn’t mind, he just needed some semblance of solitude as he ask God once again for affirmation he’s doing what he’s mean to. But apparently someone didn’t get the note.

It was the middle of the Eucharistic prayer, his head buried deep behind clasped hands, when a figure clad in jacket, the hood obscuring the wearer's face kneeled beside him. But the dainty hands told him it was a woman, almost resembling... he shook the thought away.

The priest could tell by experience this person was not religious but, something compelling must have driven her here. She could barely recite the prayer without a guide, and almost thankful when the familiar Amen came.

They were asked to stand for the next part of the liturgy, the movement caused the hood fall back. And the priest’s breath catches in his throat. For a split second he was annoyed, how dare she disregard his plea to stay away, and then he remembered where they are. He remembered a time long ago, when she told him she was at the verge of a prayer. Did she look like this?  
He stood back and tried to focus on the reading.

Moments later, with the great Catholic mass choreography, they were to sit. She glanced back to check how far away the seat was and simultaneously discovered who it was she had sat next to. In his periphery, he could see her lips parted, frozen in place, contemplating if he knew it was her, he was staring straight ahead and she had her back to him. She even had her hood on, he may have not recognized her. And then her jaw tightened. She turned to leave.

"Stay," she heard him say.

She stilled. He was staring up at her like he did years ago in a stairway in some London restaurant and she with that confused look. The new lines around his eyes and the tiredness in hers however reminded them how long it has been, they were both weathered.

"It's almost over, please stay," he said. She glanced at the altar, almost seeking permission before taking the place next to him.

The mass had ended, the people are filtering out. But neither of them moved.

“How’ve you been?”

"What brings you here?"

They spoke at the same time, the tension seemed to bubble out with their chuckles. The priest was able to compose himself first.

“I’m church visiting,” he said to answer her question before repeating his “What brings you here? Are you on a holiday… because Dublin really—“

"It's Dad," she began, "he's in St. Luke's.”

It was the hospital just down the road. Her father and godmother went to Dublin a week ago for a sort of late honeymoon getaway. On the way to an exhibit, in an intersection another car collided with theirs. Godmother didn’t get hurt, aside from some scratches, but her dad being on the side of impact received most of the blow. It’s been three days since and he hasn’t woken up. The doctors, considering his age, weren’t confident he’ll make it.

"Where's Claire?"

She shook her head, "I told Klare,” she said then chuckled realising the priest wouldn’t know the difference, “not Claire my sister, her Finnish husband. They're expecting, it’s a delicate pregnancy I don't… I can’t…" she breathes, “At least Klare will be there to hold her. He’ll know what to do.”

But who’s going to hold you? He tightens his jaw to refrain the words spill out; instead he asks “Are you on your way there or…” 

Fifteen minutes later they were stood outside the ICU. From the door’s glass pane they can see her godmother sitting beside her husband’s unconscious form. She was talking so animatedly, you’d think he was awake. Her smile only faltering when she turns to him waiting for a response, she reached over squeeze his hand.

Beside him, he heard her clear her throat before softly knocking on the door, “Hey,” she said, “I brought someone.” 

“Oh Father!” Godmother gasped upon seeing the priest on the doorway. And for the first time in days, true lift of life appeared in her eyes, “Did you come all the way here to visit us?”

They were getting a bit loud and a nurse passed by and asked them to continue their conversation outside. The priest led godmother to the hall, before throwing her a conspirator grin over his shoulder.

She strayed beside her father. “Hey Dad, I’m gonna steal you for a bit, okay?” Watching the priest and godmother outside, she tilted her heard to the side and admitted, “She’s… she’s actually worried about you. So wake up already. I won’t let you sleep through Claire’s birth. You’re not getting away with nappy duty if that’s what you’re playing at.”

No response. Nothing had changed even when the end of visiting hours came and she and the priest had to leave. Godmother gets to stay, though. She feels a pang of jealousy then; it should have been her or Claire or her mother, had she not died, there beside him. Her father once told her she knew how to love the most, she’s beginning to know what he meant by that’s how she find it very painful. To want to offer your everything, only to find you’re not needed.

“Thank you,” she said, coming back to reality. “I haven’t had time alone with him.”

He wanted nothing but to wrap his arms around her. She always smiled despite the pain she’s going through. He wondered if she even noticed the tears threatening to fall. What can he do for her, it’d be selfish of him to make her feel loved only to walk away when he feels it’s too much. If God didn't want him to, He really shouldn't have let them meet like this. What is He on about? 

“I’m starving, do you want to have dinner?” she asked.

“Sure,” he answered almost too eagerly, not wanting the night to end. “Where do you want to eat?”

“There’s a chicken place near…” she gestured towards the direction of the restaurant she’d been eating at for the last couple of days but, stopped mid-sentence seeing him shake his head.

“No, no, that won’t do. Come, this is my city, I’ll show you.” He tilted his head the other way and starts walking that way, turning every now and then to encourage her to follow him.

They walked for a couple of blocks until they reached a pub. On the canopy were plot beds, which he proudly informs her produces home-grown potatoes. She let him order for them. A ‘boxty’ he said to the waiter, probably a spud meal. 

While waiting for the food they played catch up, they both fell mainly around the priest’s work. As if to remind them of the choice he made and asserting it was the right one. Without delving into much detail, he told her about the confession that happened earlier that afternoon and how a song was utilised for reconciliation.

Her eyes went wide, her lips in disbelief, “You didn’t!”

“It honestly felt the right thing to do and before I knew it they were gone.” He said, procuring the forgotten necklace from his pocket. She was loss for words and let herself fall into a laugh. It was beginning to feel like the old days, however short that was. When they could just talk, drink, and laugh. The waiter arrived with their order, bringing them back to reality.

She gathered herself, asking the question she didn’t think she’d ever had the chance to, “Did it find you?” He looked at her, needing further context, “The fox. That night… on the bus stop, when you left, there was a fox,” she spoke the words quickly, as though nothing of importance occured there, “And it stopped in front of me, like it was asking for directions. I assumed towards you, so I pointed where you… what?”

He was looking at her so solemnly, and then decidedly looked down to dig into his cubed potatoes. “Yes, it found me.”

It was odd, that night. He was walking the streets alone, when he noticed a shadow beside him. He turned around, fearing the worst and true enough, the fox was there. He stared the creature down. Not in the mood to be hounded, he took a threatening step towards it. But the fox was undeterred. They used to just look back at him, even judging, but this time it growled. He felt like growling himself too. Crouching down, he offered a hand for it to smell and maybe it’ll allow to be petted. It bit him, of course. Since then a fox would be lurking around the church every day.

“You really were going to leave without saying hi?” he asked, remembering her attempt escape at the church.

She didn’t meet his eyes when she answered, “I thought it was a test, that if I let Him have you, He’ll let me keep Dad.”

He reached over. For a moment she thought he would lean in and kiss her, she didn’t know what she would do if he did. Neither did he, but he settled to resting his hand over hers. The rest of the dinner went on without further words.

They were standing out of the pub’s door; his vicarage is southward and the hotel she’s staying at is north. It’s time to part ways. She gives him a nod, like the one she did two years ago. One full of understanding and acceptance. He watched her walk away from him.

“I lied,” he blurted out. She stopped. “It didn’t pass. At least for me, it didn’t.”

“Fucking right,” he hears her scoff. She turns to him, her brows contorted, pleading, “There’s a bus stop right around the corner, I saw it. I really can’t deal with a third rejection from the same man in a lifetime. And I’m so fucking tired of competing against God--” She was interrupted by her phone ringing. She huffed, shaking her head towards the sky.

The range of emotions washing over her face as she talked to the other person on the line was enough to tell him it was about her father and that it was good news. “That was Claire. She knows --Klare told her,--she called godmother--” She said, trying to catch him up with the event even before she finished putting the phone down, her eyes radiant once again. “Dad’s awake.”

Somehow he felt this would happen. He began to step towards her, tugging at his dog collar until it came off. “I think He approves now,” he declared. He only stopped until he was right in front of her.

They reached for each other at the same time, cupping each other’s cheeks, fingers getting lost in the hair, their lips touched. It was almost like no time had passed; it was still as sweet as it was years ago. When they parted, they caught each other’s eyes. A breathless chuckle came out from both of them, because for the first time since they met each other, they knew fate isn’t working against them.


End file.
